


No More, Please...

by Frywen



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Curses, Fuck Or Die, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Rape Aftermath, Rimming, Scenting, Sex Pollen, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26833924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frywen/pseuds/Frywen
Summary: "I told you to run," Geralt growls against his neck, nosing under Jaskier's ear, burying his face in Jaskier's hair. The stubble on his chin tickles and Jaskier tries to squirm away, only to be held tighter, a knee pressing between his legs and he can feel something hard against his thigh."Ah, Geralt, not that I'm not enjoying myself but what's going on? Are you hurt? Didn't we need to flee?""You..."Geralt growls and of all things Jaskier thought he would do, licking his neck was definitely not one. "Smell too good..."ORGeralt gets hit with a curse and he can't keep his hands off his sweet smelling bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 376
Collections: Whumptober





	No More, Please...

**Author's Note:**

> Please be mindful of the tags. More warnings in the end notes. 
> 
> Written for Whumtober 2020 prompt:  
> No 6. Please...  
> "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"
> 
> Partially inspired by [amazing art by spielzeugkaiser in tumblr](https://spielzeugkaiser.tumblr.com/post/618390147529064448/okay-okay-i-know-im-more-here-for-the-soft)
> 
> Thank you [Kazeetease](https://kazeetease.tumblr.com/) for betaing!

"Geralt, you're back!"

"Run," Geralt grits through his teeth, stalking closer, his movements stilted, wrong.

"Don't be an idiot, you're obviously hurt, let me help." Jaskier steps closer, lifting his hand to help Geralt sit down. Or that was his intention. Geralt grabs his arm and flings him against a tree hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs and before he can even take a breath a hand on his throat pins him to the tree.

"I told you to run," Geralt growls against his neck, nosing under Jaskier's ear, burying his face in Jaskier's hair. The stubble on his chin tickles and Jaskier tries to squirm away, only to be held tighter, a knee pressing between his legs and he can feel something hard against his thigh.

"Ah, Geralt, not that I'm not enjoying myself but what's going on? Are you hurt? Didn't we need to flee?"

"You..."Geralt growls and of all things Jaskier thought he would do, licking his neck was definitely not one. "Smell too good..."

"Geralt...?" Jaskier tries again, trying to push Geralt's hand away, only for him to hold on tighter, choking him, "Geralt, please, you're hurting me...?" he manages to wheeze as he hangs on Geralt's hand, trying and failing to push it away, panic creeping on him as the witcher stays as immovable as ever.

"Don't want to hurt you. You should have run." Geralt's hands shake but he loosens his hold, letting Jaskier breathe properly but it's only to rip his chemise open at the front ignoring the protesting squeak Jaskier makes.

"This was a perfectly fine chemise, you brute!" Jaskier tries his best to be angry instead of scared but the panic starts to raise its ugly head as Geralt's hand travels down his bare chest gripping his waist hard enough to bruise. He's not one to deny lovers even if they want to be rough, but this is not Geralt.

Geralt is always gentle, minding his strength around normal people. Minding his strength around Jaskier, his touch soft, gentle, like he's afraid Jaskier would break. He would never hurt Jaskier, not intentionally.

"Ah...!" Kisses which are more teeth than lips pepper his neck, his throat, his cheek, his shoulder as soon as Geralt rips the offending fabric out of the way and it feels so good, Jaskier wants to sink onto this feeling clouding his thoughts.

But this is wrong. Something is wrong with Geralt and he can't ignore it even if the hands and lips on his naked skin make him _want_ , make his skin burn with desire like nothing he has ever felt before, make him want to be devoured whole.

"G-Geralt... please, stop..." he whines and is rewarded with a bite strong enough to draw blood and the jolt of pain brings him back to his senses, the earlier panic raising its head again as he cries out in pain.

"Can't," Geralt grits out and licks the blood dribbling down Jaskier's throat and grinds on him, the silver studs of his armour digging into Jaskier's exposed skin and Jaskier shivers but not from arousal.

"Geralt, Geralt, please, talk to me, I'm really not into this and I would very much prefer if you'd let me go right this instant so I can run away as fast as I can just as you suggested, but plea- ahh!" His rambling is interrupted by Geralt pushing a gloved hand into his pants and squeezing his arse.

"Can't... a curse..." Geralt kisses up Jaskier's cheek and Jaskier knows, can feel the exact moment the witcher tastes the first tear on his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I know you don't want me... you don't want this..."

"...I do. I do want you..." Jaskier admits, his voice barely a whisper. But he knows Geralt can hear him, can feel him relax just the tiniest bit. "...But not like this... please..."

"Can't..." Geralt chokes out, "can't stop... Thought I'd reach a whore house... but smelled you... I'm sorry..."

Geralt sounds pained, his hands still but his lips keep kissing every bit of skin he can reach like he can't be apart from Jaskier, from his smell, whatever that means. Jaskier can feel Geralt tremble with the effort of staying still, his rock hard cock rocking gently on Jaskier's hip and Geralt whines, a small pained sound. That's what breaks Jaskier, breaks his heart, breaks his resolve. No matter how scared he is, Geralt is in pain. And if there's anything he can do to help he will.

"...It's okay. I forgive you."

"You shouldn't." Geralt whispers in his ear, biting his earlobe, his sharp fangs grazing at the sensitive skin ever so gently.

"I know..." Jaskier draws a sharp breath when Geralt noses behind his ear and buries his face in his hair, "What would... what if you stopped?"

"Can't," Geralt grits through his teeth, "the smell of you drives me crazy... I can't control it... I thought you'd run and... almost lost it..."

"But whoever made the curse, they must have said something? Could I like, give you a blowjob and be done with it?"

"That bastard... wanted me to slaughter the entire village..."

"And instead you just what? Became horny? What the fuck? How does that even work?"

"Jaskier, please... I need... I'm so sorry, I can't... I don't want to hurt you... I feel like I'm losing my mind... Fuck...!" Geralt sounds needy, grinding against Jaskier, every muscle in his body trembling. And still, the hand which strokes Jaskier's cheek is gentle, wiping away the tears. A stark contrast to his other hand, gripping Jaskier's arse with need, pressing himself more firmly against the bard.

"If you could... there's oil in my bag... please..."

"You shouldn't..."

"Geralt you're literally holding my arse hostage. If we're doing this I'd much rather enjoy myself," Jaskier says with as much bravado as he can muster. It's not much. Especially when his voice wavers. He has no idea what he has promised himself into. But Geralt needs him, needs him more and more and who is he to deny him.

Geralt drags him to their bags, his hand curled firmly behind his neck, like an animal dragging its young where they belong and as much as Jaskier wants to touch Geralt, to ease the pain he seems to be in, he has priorities. He unlaces his trousers as fast as he can. They are very nice trousers, no need to ruin them just because some idiot cursed his witcher horny. He only hopes there's still something left of him after tonight to wear the trousers again, but that's a worry for the morning him, not the current him.

He barely has time to step out of the fabric pooling at his ankles before he's pushed against a tree, face first, and a generous amount of oil is poured over his arse. Geralt pins him against the tree and he can feel the witcher's massive cock press against his arse and he won't survive this. He can't even see but even feeling the cock against him tells him there is no way he'll walk away from this unscathed.

"G-Geralt...?" he tries, not daring to even hint at escaping, the witcher's earlier words clear on his mind. He will not survive if Geralt loses it. Even if being fucked to death sounds great in theory, that is no way how he wants to end his days, thank you very much. So he stays very still, trying to relax while a very large, very strong man grinds against him, intending to fuck him until whatever curse this is has run its course.

"I'm sorry..." Geralt whispers in his ear as he pushes Jaskier's legs together, his oiled cock slipping between them the same time a well-slicked finger pushes into his hole, too fast, too much and too little at the same time, the finger pushing deeper on every thrust of Geralt's hips.

"I'm so sorry..." Geralt whispers again, while biting his ear as another finger pushes in, working him open, stretching his slick hole and it feels good but also too much, and it's definitely too much when a third and then _fourth_ finger slips into him, and Jaskier cries out but Geralt doesn't let up, doesn't slow down, but he apologises over and over again and Jaskier can't even reply, all he can think of is the stretch in his hole, of the fingers, the hand slipping in in-sync with the thrusts of Geralt's cock between his thighs.

Geralt bites hard down his shoulder, muffling his groan and Jaskier feels him spill on his thighs and he thinks he can get a moment but to his horror, Geralt stays rock hard even after all his seed has spilt.

"I'm sorry..." Geralt murmurs again as he lines his cock against Jaskier's hole and kicks his legs apart, spreading his cheeks wide and pours more oil. Geralt grips tight on Jaskier's hips so he couldn't run even if he wanted to and he sheaths his entire slick length in on one push and Jaskier cries out, digs his hand on the tree to hold onto something as Geralt slams into him again and again, his cock so hard and big fingers could have never prepared him enough even if they had more time.

It's too much.

Too much.

He can't take it.

He thought he could, but he can't. It's too much.

"Get it out, stop, please...!" Jaskier sobs, desperately trying to relax despite the onslaught, but Geralt only holds his hips tighter, pulls his ass up and fucks into him harder than anyone has ever before and _growls_.

In any other circumstances, Jaskier would find it hot. So hot. But now? Being devoured by a cursed witcher? He does not. It makes shivers run down his spine and Geralt must have felt it because the bruising grip he has on Jaskier's hips eases and he leans to kiss between his shoulder blades despite maintaining the brutal harsh rhythm.

"Can't... stop... sorry..." Geralt grits out and Jaskier feels as he trembles. This is not Geralt's fault, he reminds himself. Or tries to. But it's hard. Despite Geralt not being the cause of it, it's still Geralt's body holding him down, Geralt's cock slamming painfully hard into him and no amount of kisses on his back will make it better.

"G-Geralt it hurts..."

"I'm sorry... I'm trying... I'm so sorry..." Geralt sounds pained, sad and it breaks Jaskier's heart, but it hurts and he can do nothing but to try to stay still and hold onto the tree.

"Please... no more... please..." Jaskier pleads with every thrust but the onslaught just keeps going until finally after Jaskier doesn't even know how many pleases Geralt stiffens behind him and thrusts one last time.

Jaskier could cry. He thinks he does when he falls to his knees on the ground as soon as Geralt lets go of him. Geralt tumbles after him, turning his face towards him, hands on his cheeks, frantically wiping the tears still falling.

"Jaskier? Jaskier? I'm so sorry I never meant to hurt you, I never wanted this to happen, blame me all you want, I deserve it, I'm so sorry.., I'm so sorry.., I'm so sorry.., I'm so sorry..."

Jaskier looks up, at golden eyes staring at him with pupils blown wide, worry and terror and guilt written all over his stoic face and he wants to do nothing but relieve those feelings but he can't. He can't, the horror of the situation is still firmly on his mind and he can feel himself tremble, the torn chemise bringing no warmth to his bruised skin and he hugs himself, willing to take any comfort he can.

"Is it over...?" Jaskier asks, his voice a hoarse whisper he knows Geralt can hear.

"...No. It isn't. This is all my fault. If I... if we survive this you'll never have to see me again."

"I... Geralt, that's not what I want. This is the fault of... of whoever made that curse... but please... I can't... not like that, not again, please... I could run now, be as far as I can before the curse takes a hold of you again... could I?"

"...No. It's... I could kill you if you run. Even the idea..." Geralt growls, a deep sound in his chest and he collects Jaskier in his arms, gently, carefully, but giving Jaskier no way to escape. "I can't... you should hate me..." Geralt buries his face in Jaskier's hair and Jaskier revels in the moment, just for a while, it feels safe to be held in strong arms, in the arms which have protected him more times he can count, in the arms of the man he has loved for so long.

The moment is all too short.

Jaskier can feel Geralt's cock poking at his thigh, ready for another round and Geralt holds him just a bit tighter, kissing his hair, drawing soothing circles on his back, hand securely over his chemise as he whispers, "I'm so sorry... I'll be gentle this time... as much as I can, I promise..."

Geralt lifts Jaskier carefully off the ground, grabbing the bottle of oil and lays him out on his bedroll. He slicks up two fingers and pours more oil on Jaskier's abused hole, massaging gently on the rim. Jaskier can feel every muscle in his body tighten, anticipating the pain sure to come. But Geralt leans forward and presses his forehead on his, hand flat on the bedroll beside Jaskier's waist and hushes him like a frightened animal and somehow it works.

Jaskier spreads his legs wider, giving Geralt more space to work and given how sore he is, it takes surprisingly little time for Geralt to insert one finger without any pain. Geralt loosens him gently, methodically and soon three fingers are in him, spreading him, preparing him for the onslaught sure to come.

Jaskier almost cries when Geralt's fingers leave him. They felt so good, so gentle and he was so relaxed, so turned on, but all good things must come to an end.

"Geralt..." Jaskier gasps when the witcher grabs his legs to spread them even wider and Geralt looks so pained, so guilty, his fingers pressing too tight on Jaskier's skin and Jaskier can see the sweat beading on the witcher's forehead, can see the painfully hard cock between his legs. "It's okay... I forgive you."

"You shouldn't..." Geralt murmurs and closes his eyes. "We don't have to... when you can see me. Or do it any way you can feel it's easiest to relax."

"This is alright, Geralt. Come here." Jaskier reaches his arms and Geralt falls into his embrace surprisingly fast. He trembles in Jaskier's arms, even when he lines his cock with Jaskier's hole and pushes it inside, slowly, only a little bit at a time before he pulls out again and with every slow, shallow, gentle push Jaskier can feel him tremble more and when finally, after what feels like an eternity, at least for Jaskier who is so slowly and carefully worked open, Geralt whines, a sound full of pain and restraint about to snap, his cock almost fully sheathed in Jaskier.

"Jaskier, Jaskier... I need... I'm sorry... I..."

"Hush, it's okay," Jaskier cups Geralt's cheek, trying to soothe him, trying to ease his guilt and Geralt grabs his leg, lifting it up under the knee, pushing deep, deep inside of him, and Jaskier cries out, the feeling somewhere between pain and pleasure and something seems to shift in Geralt who thrusts again, just as hard, just as deep making Jaskier cry out with every thrust.

"Geralt...! Geralt! Just a little slower, please, I can't... I'm..." he doesn't even know what he's trying to say, just that it's too much.

"I'll try... I'm so sorry... Jaskier..." Geralt soothes him, presses their foreheads together and pounds into him just as fast, just as hard and Jaskier moans, tears falling to his cheeks, his hard cock rubbing against Geralt's jerkin.

"Ah! Geralt... please... please...!" Jaskier's not even sure what he pleads, just that he needs, wants, desires.

"Can I..." Geralt starts but Jaskier grabs him, holds his cheeks in his palms, buries his fingers in Geralt's hair and tugs.

"What... what do you need?" Jaskier manages to choke out and opens his eyes to look at Geralt. The witcher looks guilty, sad, pained and it breaks Jaskier's heart.

"Can I... can I kiss you?" Geralt asks, so ready to be dismissed, to be rejected.

"Only... only if you really mean it... I can't... not if you don't mean it..." Jaskier says, not expecting anything to happen. But Geralt kisses him, desperate, passionate, like he wants, needs to devour Jaskier whole and he pulls Jaskier to sit up in his lap, still impaled on his cock and he holds Jaskier's hips still, pushing up, up incredibly deep, his lips never leaving Jaskier's lips, not even when he tangles his hand in Jaskier's hair and holds him still and there's not a hair's width between them and the silver studs dig into Jaskier's skin but he doesn't mind because Geralt is kissing him.

Geralt is kissing him and fucking so deep into him Jaskier feels like he'll lose his mind, like at that moment he would do anything Geralt asks of him, anything to make this moment last longer, to make Geralt his if just for tonight.

He has no words, no desire to speak, all he wants to do for eternity is to kiss Geralt, kiss Geralt until he knows nothing else and he whimpers, whines into the kiss.

Geralt pulls back like struck. "I'm so sorry..." he pulls Jaskier to him, burying his face in Jaskier's hair and Jaskier can hear his ragged breath in his ear even though all of the moans every thrust forces out of him.

"Geralt... Aah...! Geralt..." Jaskier moans and grasps Geralt's hair to tug him back, to look at him and he comes willingly, his eyes so full of guilt Jaskier can't take it. "Can I... a-ah! Can I take off your- Ah! Your clothes... It's awfully unfair... Ah! Unfair to be the only one... the only one naked...!"

While he is, in fact, not fully naked, the torn chemise still on his shoulders, he knows Geralt will not point it out. Instead, Geralt lets go of his hair and Jaskier hurries to hold his hands around Geralt's neck, as Geralt strips surely and efficiently and soon Jaskier can feel the witcher flush against him, his cock getting trapped between them as Geralt renews his hold, pulling Jaskier as close as he can.

Jaskier tangles his hands in Geralt's hair and kisses him fully on the lips, moaning into his mouth with every thrust and he's so close, so close.

Jaskier pulls Geralt's hair and he can feel the witcher tremble, a moan escaping his lips between kisses and Jaskier can't help himself. He reaches between them and takes his cock in his hand, stroking in sync with every thrust and he can feel Geralt lose it when he squeezes around the cock inside of him. Geralt grabs his hips and slams into him, holding him still in a bruising grip but Jaskier doesn't mind, all he can think about is the pleasure building inside of him, of the cock ramming into him, of the witcher kissing him, devouring him and he comes, spilling his seed between them, screaming.

Geralt doesn't let up, not even when Jaskier can feel cum drip from him with every thrust, the witcher holding him like his life depends on it. And maybe it does, Jaskier still hasn't got the slightest clue what the curse was about, only that whoever cast it wanted Geralt to murder an entire village.

"Geralt... Geralt... Geralt... I need... I need a break..." Jaskier begs, digging his nails in Geralt's shoulder, trying to hold on, to stay sane when every hard thrust hits him just painfully right, his body trying to respond in vain, the overstimulation making his eyes water and he cries out when Geralt tightens his hold, his teeth grazing his throat a low growl rising from deep within the witcher's chest.

"No..." Geralt growls, this time with words and sinks his teeth in Jaskier's throat, drawing blood with his sharp teeth and as hot as that is, as much as Jaskier has fantasised of those teeth in his throat, he cries out in pain.

Geralt looks up, startled, and Jaskier can do nothing else but to kiss the sadness, the guilt away from the witcher's lips, holding onto Geralt as best as he can even when he feels like everything is too much, too fast, too... everything and he knows he whines, whimpers into the kiss but still, despite that, despite everything he never breaks the kiss, not even when he feels Geralt stiffen under him and push into him the last few times and he could cry with relief.

Geralt all but collapses on the bedroll, Jaskier underneath him, all that's preventing the mountain of a man crushing Jaskier are Geralt's forearms beside his head, his elbows on the ground and Jaskier can feel Geralt's breath on his face, small, fast puffs of air.

Jaskier looks up. Geralt's eyes are closed, sweat glistening on his furrowed brow, his breath ragged like he'd run ten miles with a gryphon chasing him.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks. Geralt doesn't answer, doesn't acknowledge him but Jaskier keeps going, "Geralt, are you alright?"

Geralt hums in response and shifts, his softening cock slipping out of Jaskier and collapses next to him, nuzzling his hair, an arm slung lazily over his waist.

Jaskier lies very still.

He doesn't dare to move, frightened he'll awaken the witcher from his slumber. His body feels like it's wrung dry, like he wrestled with a witcher... which he sort of did. Wouldn't mind doing again. But in very different circumstances.

A snore at his side startles Jaskier out of his thoughts and he dares to take a peek. Geralt looks peaceful. The light of the dying flames of their campfire illuminates his white hair, half of his gorgeous face and Jaskier can't help but admire him.

"I forgive you, my wolf..." he whispers, running his fingers whisper-light on Geralt's cheek. Geralt doesn't even flinch. He's deep asleep, more relaxed Jaskier has ever seen him. Even in his haze, Jaskier notes, Geralt has set himself between Jaskier and the forest, providing defence from whatever might lurk in these woods.

Valiant, Jaskier admits.

But tonight, the scariest thing lurking in the forest is the cursed witcher fast asleep next to him and despite what he wants to feel, Jaskier is scared, terrified, of what might happen if Geralt woke up again. Terrified of how long the curse will last, of what would end the curse.

He makes it to the other side of the camp, trousers barely on (after all one cannot run around the woods naked) before he's caught, tackled to the ground by a deadly silent attacker. He doesn't have time to scream, to protest, to make the terror freezing his body known before he hears a growl, a deep sound no human should be able to make, despite the clearly human hands holding him down by the scruff of his neck, despite the human hands ripping his trousers to his knees.

"Geralt...?" Jaskier tries, only to be responded with another growl and icy cold dread freezes him, tells him to run, to escape from the monster behind him and he tries.

Oh, how he tries, his fingernails chipping when he claws the ground, claws the hands holding him down, kicks behind him but it's all in vain.

"Geralt!" Jaskier tries again, desperate, but all he gets as an answer is a growl. "Geralt, please... please..." Jaskier begs, begs as his ass is hoisted up, begs as his cheeks are spread to reveal his hole.

"...Please..." it turns into a moan as a wet flat tongue licks him as if to taste.

"Please... please..." Jaskier begs, moans as he is slowly, meticulously licked, teased, fucked with a tongue, held firmly in place by strong hands and it feels so good.

Jaskier would rock his arse into Geralt's face, but he's locked in place, forced to take anything Geralt wants to give him and he whines, whines with fear, with lust, with frustration, with confusion all at once. He can't move to touch his aching cock but it doesn't matter because Geralt fucks his tongue into his hole and he comes undone, crying aloud as his cum spills to the dirt.

He doesn't even realise the witcher has moved behind him, too focused on his afterglow, on the pleasure still running through his veins and suddenly, it's too much.

"Geralt! G-Geralt no, it's too much... too much, I... I can't... I'm only a human... please stop, please, please... no more, please..." Jaskier knows he's blabbering, knows half of the words he's saying won't even make sense but he can't.

Geralt's knee is firmly between his legs, pushing them apart as much as the fabric of his trousers bunched at his knees allow, his cock already halfway in Jaskier's spit slicked hole, rocking back and forth, every thrust going in deeper, deeper until Geralt is balls deep in Jaskier and Jaskier cries out.

"Please, Geralt... please, please, get it out, I can't... I can't anymore... please..."

Geralt growls again, but this time, there are words, or at least _a_ word, "Mine..."

"Yes...! Yes! I'm yours but I can't, it's too much...!"

Somehow, Jaskier buries his face in his arms to muffle his cries, his moans and whimpers and whines. To hide his shame and fear and confusion at the utter betrayal of his body, of his mind because he enjoys this, enjoys the rough hands on him, enjoys the borderline painful overstimulation and above all when Geralt called him mine he was sure he was losing it.

A hand on his hair tugs hard, pulls hard enough to force his head up from the safety of his arms and Geralt leans over him, bracing his weight on the ground, hand on the ground behind Jaskier's arm so he can't move and the new angle hits him just right, tears streaming down his face at the overwhelming pleasure, lust and when Geralt growls in his ear only a single order Jaskier is sure he will die.

"Sing."

Jaskier cries, moans, screams. Every sound he makes drives Geralt on, his cock slamming hard into Jaskier, hard and fast, the hand on his neck holding him tight enough he couldn't escape even if he tried, even if he wanted to.

"I'm yours... I'm yours... please... have mercy..." he begs and moans, Geralt's breath hot on his shoulder and he knows Geralt can hear him, can hear every plea, every affirmation, every sound he wrings out of him.

Jaskier doesn't even know what he's saying, if he's saying anything at all, but he obeys his witcher, sings, until his voice is hoarse, until his body can't take it anymore, until everything turns black.

***

Jaskier wakes up, slowly, blinks his eyes open, trying and failing to understand what he's seeing. He's not in their camp. He's not in fact outdoors at all, but in a decent straw bed, in a warm house. A woman is sitting next to him, watching over him, but it's not her he wants to see.

The woman sees he's awake and points towards a corner.

Geralt.

Geralt sits in the corner, deep in meditation, no emotion visible on his face.

"Is he..." Jaskier's throat feels raw, the pain stabbing him with every word but he forces it down. He doesn't know what he wants to ask. Obviously, Geralt looks okay, looks unharmed.

The silence stretches on and Jaskier tears his eyes away from Geralt, to look at the woman. She has a frown between her brows and she looks sad as she pets his hair with gentle strokes.

"I can help you. Whoever did this to you, you can't go back to them. You were lucky the witcher found you and brought you here. I will give you everything you need and help you to leave, okay?"

"I... It's not like that..." Jaskier tries to deny, his voice rasping in his throat but the woman's eyes turn sharp.

"It never is. Until it is the next time. And the next."

Jaskier looks over at Geralt who hasn't moved an inch. But Jaskier can see he's no longer meditating, but listening to every word as carefully as if he were on a monster hunt.

"How long... how long do I have to stay?" he asks, dreading the answer. Sure Geralt is here now, but in an hour? Tomorrow?

"At least a couple of days. You took quite a beating, it'll take a while for you to heal."

"No, I need to..." Jaskier tries to get up, but moving hurts, hurts everywhere, in places he didn't know could even hurt, in muscles, he didn't know he had and cries out.

"Don't worry, I won't tell a soul you're here, no matter who comes to ask."

Jaskier isn't looking at the woman, his eyes are fixed on Geralt, who's standing up, eyes open and alert, silent as ever. The woman looks over at Geralt and frowns.

"Ease up, Witcher. He'll be fine."

"That's not..." Geralt starts but stops himself. He looks like he's searching for the right words, not sure what he needs to say. "Could I talk to him? In private?" He finally asks.

"I'll go get some food and painkillers for you, love," the woman pats Jaskier's arm gently. "I'm just over there, shout if you need anything."

Geralt looks as the woman walks to the next room, leaving the door ajar.

Jaskier doesn't even dare to hope, to wish for Geralt to look at him like he used to, with kindness and fond exasperation. And he isn't wrong. The short look Geralt gives him from the other side of the room is so full of guilt and fear Jaskier feels it'll suffocate him.

"...You stink of fear." Geralt says, never stepping closer. He isn't wearing his armour, only trousers and a shirt, swords laid against a wall.

"I'm not afraid of you," Jaskier says, more out of habit than anything. Geralt takes a step towards him and in an instant, his heart is in his throat, hands grabbing the blanket laid over him, feet kicking him further away from the witcher.

Geralt backs away and sits against the wall, as non-threatening as he can appear. It calms him. Despite him knowing it's all false, Geralt could leap at him in an instant and there would be nothing he could do, it still calms him.

"Did you really mean it?" Jaskier asks. Geralt closes his eyes and... slumps, covering his face with his hand.

"...I'll come back and pay Aniela after you're gone."

"That's not what I asked."

Geralt doesn't answer.

The woman, Aniela, Jaskier guesses, comes back with a bowl of stew and a vial of... something.

"Eat. And drink this, it'll take the edge off the pain. And hopefully, keep the nightmares at bay." She helps Jaskier sits up and places the tray on his lap, keeping a keen eye on him until he has eaten everything. It takes surprisingly little time for Jaskier to get sleepy, his eyelids heavy, but he doesn't want to close his eyes because when he'll open them up again Geralt will be gone.

"The witcher won't bother you, I assure you. He's as good as they come," Aniela assures him, "He saved you, brought you here. Wouldn't stop pestering me until I told him you'd be fine with some medicine and a bit of rest."

"Yeah... okay... good..." Jaskier mumbles, sleep threatening to overtake him. Aniela pets his hair and leaves again leaving him with Geralt.

"Geralt...?" Jaskier asks and untangles his hand from his blanket, "hold my hand?"

Geralt gets up and walks to him slowly, every step making a sound on the wooden floor. Jaskier can feel his heart hammering in his chest, fear tangling his insides in a freezing knot but still, he holds his shaking hand to Geralt who _kneels_ at the side of his bed and takes his hand like it's the most delicate thing in the whole world.

"It's over, right?" Jaskier's voice sounds small in his ears but he knows Geralt can hear him just fine. He can't look Geralt in the eyes. It feels like too much, too soon. So he looks at their joined hands, focuses on Geralt's warm hand in his and tries to imagine everything is just like it used to.

"Yeah."

"And the... who did it..." Jaskier doesn't know how to ask. How to use words which is ridiculous because words are his thing, it shouldn't be this hard but it is. He doesn't know what to say, what to ask, every word feels wrong in his tongue, hurts his throat like poison.

"I'll take care of it."

"...Good." He doesn't have any other words. He doesn't even want to know. Whoever did this can choke on their tongue for all he cares. They deserve whatever Geralt decides to do and he won't ask.

"Did you really mean it?" Jaskier needs to know if it was real. If Geralt wanted to kiss _him_. He dares to look into Geralt's eyes, into the deep golden glow he loves so much it hurts. Geralt looks back at him, this time with gentleness and guilt and Jaskier can't help but feel frightened and hopeful, not sure which feeling is worse.

"...I did." Geralt admits. He holds Jaskier's gaze and Jaskier blinks to stay awake, to memorise this moment he thought he'd never get and smiles at Geralt, fear melting away one drop at a time and when Geralt reaches to pet his hair, slowly, giving him enough time to refuse he lets his eyes close, too tired and happy to fight it anymore.

"Go to sleep, Jaskier," Geralt tells him, voice gentler than Jaskier has ever heard.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Jaskier murmurs, voice already heavy with sleep.

"If you want me to be."

"I do."

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Violence from Geralt towards Jaskier, including choking.  
> Jaskier thinks he might die.  
> Jaskier begs on several occasions for Geralt to stop, but he doesn't.  
> Jaskier feels shame for his body responding when he is, in fact, not having a good time.  
> At the end, several mentions of domestic violence a healer assumes someone other than Geralt did to Jaskier. 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr @frywen-bumbles!


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